


Sun's Dawn

by Amethyst97Skye



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Developing Friendships, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst97Skye/pseuds/Amethyst97Skye
Summary: The world is ending - like, legitimately - but she will enjoy exploring this strange new universe for as long as the Gods will allow her. Which, as it turns out, is not long at all.





	1. Rivals in Riverwood

**Author's Note:**

> This is not part of my personal canon, but I was in a fluffy mood. I do not think this will pass two chapters, though. Enjoy. ^_^

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're that visitor, been pokin' around." - Delphine

One day, some illustrious explorer – and renown scholar – would find her journal. Find it, read it, and throw it in the nearest forge with an expression of utmost disgust on their face. Then would then pen – _quill?_ – a definition of “chicken scratch”: incomprehensible handwriting, legible only to the original writer who, coincidently, must have learned penmen – _Quillman?_ – ship by watching chickens foraging for food and took to imitating their habits.

At least, that was what _she_ thought, though no one had ever cared much for her opinion.

“You doing OK over there?”

Unnaturally quick reflexes saw her catch the inkwell she knocked, just before it hit the ground, without spilling a drop. Marvelling at this unbelievable feat, she remained quite oblivious to her curious companion. At least, until they corrected her grip on the quill.

“Er… thanks,” she squeaked, ducking her head to hide her blush. And fear.

_Holy fuck, that’s Delphine!_

“Don’t worry. You won’t get judged around here,” she assured, perfectly calm.

 _Doesn’t she know? How could she_ not _know?_

“If you don’t mind me asking, what… exactly are you trying to, er, write?”

“Several things,” she replied, grateful for the distraction. “First, a to-do list.”

_One: don’t piss over an undercover Blades Agent._

“Second, a supply list. And third, a journal entry.”

_I need to stay sane somehow!_

“Ah. An adventurer,” she nodded, sighing heavily, smiling wistfully, no doubt reminiscing about glorious battles and happier times, times when she did not have to masquerade as an innkeeper.

“Ha! An adventurer? Yeah, right. The day I become an adventurer is the day the Dominion bow down to Talos.”

By scrunching up her roll of parchment – salvaged in the spur of the moment, while racing through Helgen’s Keep with Ralof roaring at the top of his lungs – with the intent of throwing it in the fire, erasing all evidence of her monstrous penmanship, she consequently missed the waves of shock and horror that crashed against her companion’s face.

“Besides, I don’t think anyone with half a brain is going to risk wandering around Skyrim now.”

“Why?”

“Wh –” She rounded on Delphine, expressing the depths of her annoyance, but her expression quickly melted into one of absolute incredulity. “You… You don’t know? You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what? Nothing happens in Riverwood.”

“Not Riverwood! Helgen!”

“Ah, yes. I heard about Ulfric Storm –”

“Not Ulfric fucking Stormcloak! The dragon! A dragon attacked Helgen!”

Delphine’s face bled chalk white. “A… A dragon?”

“Yes. Yes, a dragon. A giant, fire-breathing, black-scaled, red-eyed dragon!”

For several heartbeats, the Blade said nothing, but her eyes kept trailing to the door as if waiting for the beast burn it down or burst inside.

“Hey, you alright? Deli?”

Her head snapped back, cracking sharply. “Deli?”

“Oh. Sorry. Would you prefer I called you Delphine?”

Her eyes narrowed conspicuously. “How do you know my name?”

_Crap!_

“Gerdur! Gerdur told me!”

_Phew. Good save._

Delphine’s chuckle almost sounded natural. Almost.

“Yes, she can be a bit of a handful, and so can her brother. He has a love of… tall tales.”

_Tall tales? Tall tales! Is she really –_

“Do you – How can you –” There were no words to express her ire. “You seriously think I would _lie_? About a dragon? About the return of The World-Eater?”

What modicum of colour Delphine had managed to regain promptly spoiled, turning her skin a sickly grey. All eyes were upon them, and there was no sound savour the logs crackling in the fire, but the women were blessedly unaware.

“Helgen is gone and you think – you- _you_ –”

Before she said or did something she would eternally regret, in a flurry of colour she seized her pack, stormed out the door, marched down the steps, and made it halfway across the northern bridge before colliding with something inescapably solid, and fell flat on her arse.

“Son of a – _Hadvar_!”

“ _Oh_ … Not got any kids yet. Well, none that I know of.” Groaning, he rose to his feet and extended a hand. It was graciously received, his unfortunate victim grinning ear-to-ear as he asked, a smirk etched across his lips, “Who have you been talking – _oomph!_ ”

She buried her head against his armoured chest, heedless of broken, blood-stained metal studs, and wrapped her arms around his waist, gasping, “ _You’re alive!_ You’re safe! I’m so glad you’re safe…” between her hiccoughing sobs, voice falling, failing until every word was nought but an unintelligible whimper.

“Hey, hey, shush… Shush. None of that now. You’re alright,” he consoled, returning her embrace, taking a moment to rest his head atop hers, close his eyes, and _breathe_.

They stayed entwined for quite some time, only releasing their hold when they looked up at the howling of a distant wolf. She was quick to disentangle herself, stammering through an apology, blushing, Hadvar thought, quite prettily, but he said nothing of the sort. Instead, he patted the stone wall beside him, and she hopped up upon her new perch as he asked what she intended to do next.

“Go to Whiterun,” she answered, immediately. “Riverwood’s defenceless, and the Jarl needs to know what… what happened.”

Hadvar let his hand fall atop hers. When she looked, but did not pull away, he drew her undivided attention.

“You don’t have to be the one to tell him,” he reasoned.

“Someone has to,” she insisted. “And Ralof – don’t give me that look – Ralof can’t go. He’d get arrested.”

“Serve him right.”

When she did not respond, Hadvar turned his gaze from the cascading shadows of Bleak Falls Barrow, aiming them at the north gate, and the small stone house hidden just out of sight.

“He didn’t… leave you, did he?”

“What? No! No, he didn’t leave me. He helped me. Protected me. But he was just… just –”

“An ass.”

“I was going to say ‘blood-thirsty’, but ‘ass’ sounds better.”

Hadvar hummed thoughtfully. “War changes you.”

This time, her hand came to rest on his. The night was eerily silent, savour the slurping babbles of the stream and the distant roar of the tireless waterfall.

“I… I wasn’t supposed to be there, you know. In the carriage, I mean.”

Hadvar nodded. “I know. Ralof wouldn’t let you out of his sight if you were a Stormcloak.”

“I – Well he… _We_ got off to a, er, rough start. After Helgen.”

She was not facing him, but she could _feel_ his gaze on her, the power behind his stare willing her to continue, but she had no words, and probably never would. Nevertheless, she relented.

_First, the easy part._

“He showed me the Guardian Stones. When he passed his hand over the Warrior, nothing happened. But when I touched it, it – it _lit up_?”

“Lit up?”

“The picture – the constellation! I could see the Warrior, the stars interlining, the etching glowing as if it were alive. And, of course, _I fucking freaked out_!”

Hadvar was not entirely successful in suffocating his laughter, but that had been her objective.

“And I backed into another one, the Thief, I think, and it started glowing, too. Of course, the Mage had to join in, and it was – it was… It _was_ , you know?”

Unfortunately, Hadvar did not and said as such, but her ecstatic expression made him smile. It felt strange, almost painful, but he did not mind. In her eyes, he could see a shimmering light, something he certainly would have noticed before because, now, there was _life_ in there. He remembered the husk that stumbled from the cart, the face that seeped dread and despair from every pour. Now there was life, energy, power, and so much more he simply did not have the words to describe.

It was something Otherworldly, he decided. Perhaps she had been blessed by the Gods. Perhaps not. He was, however, glad to learn she survived. It had not been his first execution, and it would not be his last, but her name had _not_ been on his list, and –

“Hey.”

She met his eyes, a question lurking in them. He could not pinpoint their colour.

“You never told me your name.”

Her face fell, but she responded before he could apologise.

“It doesn’t feel real, you know?”

Unfortunately, Hadvar did, and he said as such, repositioning their hands.

“I just… I just want to wake up, and if I tell you, I feel like this – _all this_ –” She gestured wildly, waving her arms around like a madwoman, "will become real. Dragons and Draugr and the Aldmeri Dominion and –”

Hadvar placed his hand on her shoulder, gripping the broad expanse of tender flesh firmly.

“Hey. It’s okay.”

It was not, and probably never would be, but he did not know what else to say, did not know how to convey that he wanted this – _all this_ – to be nothing more than a bad dream he had found in the end of a bottle. She gave him a shy, sad smile that said she understood. It made his heart flutter, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine.

For a time, neither of them spoke. The silence was not as uncomfortable as they first imagined. His hand migrated back to hers, and they would take turns bearing the cold, exposing their dorsum to the evening autumn chill, and the river lulled them into a false sense of security. For now, sitting side by side, with a town of guards not twenty paces away, they allowed themselves to indulge.

“So,” she said suddenly, clearing her throat, “what’s your next move? Returning to Solitude?”

Her words were punctured by the sound of gravel toppling from a great height, and pebbles being crushed underfoot, as she dismounted the wall, rubbing her arse for good measure. Hadvar winced sympathetically as he set his feet on solid ground. His armour offered more in the way of both protection and padding.

“Aye. I’m not sure what happened to General Tullius, but –”

“He survived. You’ll meet him back in the capital.”

She sounded so sure, so _very_ sure that, strange as it felt, he believed her.

“It’d be quicker to take a caravan than to go on foot. Safer, too.”

She shuffled her feet and ducked her head, arms crossed behind her back, and despite the shadow cast on her features, Hadvar caught her biting her bottom lip. It was endearingly child-like.

“I got a few Septims, chopping wood for Hod, but I got kicked out the tavern, so if you wanted to come with me to Whiterun…”

Hadvar frowned. “I can’t ask you –”

Her head shot up faster than a Bosmer could loose an arrow.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” She revealed a very stern, straight finger. “There is a difference, you know.” Her arms fell to her sides, where she cocked her fists on her wide hips. “And you’re going to accept because I still feel shitty for leaving you behind.”

The little leather pouch she threw at him could have, from his expression, been spun from gold and filled to bursting with flawless diamonds. He only looked up at her “ _Oooo!_ ” and caught her sprinting across the bridge to catch the first rays of sunlight with her tiny, fine fingers. The tips only just brushed the golden light, but as Magnus crested the horizon, she was bathed in an ethereal glow that made her appear so very –

“Hadvar!”

With a jerk, and several rapid, wide-eyed blinks, he dropped his head only to raise it, following her outstretched finger to the rising sun. She was not looking at him, and he was relieved her attention had been focused elsewhere. His cheeks felt oddly warm to the touch.

“That’s what you can call me.”

_What? Sun? Sky?_

“Dawn.”

_Dawn. Yes. Yes, that sounds much better._

For all the world it would do to his frayed nerves, Hadvar approached calmly and cleared his throat for good measure. He dipped into a low bow and offered his hand.

“Would you give me the honour of accompanying you to Whiterun, Dawn?”

_Gods, her smile…_

Dipping into a low, unbalanced curtsey, she offered her own hand as she rose.

“The honour, and pleasure, my good sir, is all mine.”

Hadvar placed a chaste kiss on the dorsum, just as he had seen his father do to his mother. He was pleased to see her skin flush, aware that he would look no better. She accepted his arm wordlessly, linking it with her own, and they set off towards the horizon, falling in step as if they had known each other all their lives. Hadvar did not spare Riverwood a second glance.


	2. Warm Sands and Cold Cobblestones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tools, wares and weapons, all for sale at fair prices." - Ri'saad

They camped outside the cities because they were not welcome within their cold, stone walls. Ri’saad was used to this, but that did not mean he had to like it. He would, however, endure. Endure and deflect the tirades of the Nords because it was he who had convinced his friends, and their caravans, to return to Skyrim with him.

The Civil War promised to be a valuable opportunity, one no merchant worth his moon sugar would pass on. With tensions running high, and even common goods running higher – especially after the High King’s death – they stood to make a tidy profit, and this would continue so long as the provinces relied upon them for their trade.

Today, Morndas, the 18th of Last Seed, was the start of a new rotation. They would spend a week (maybe two, if business was good) near Whiterun, and then continue onto Markarth, passing through Rorikstead and Karthwasten, completing the “Karthspire Circuit” twice every month. Ri’saad knew those paths like the backs of his paws, but it was, at times, exhausting and loveless work, but Ri’saad had spent more than half his life on Skyrim’s cobblestone roads. He knew no other way to live.

It was still early, before the eighth bell, when a pair of travellers approached, one of which – judging by his armour – was an Imperial soldier. Ri’saad hissed a quick warning to Ma’randru-jo as the man’s companion approached. She was a young woman, most likely a noble, judging by her distinct _lack_ of armour and generously fair skin, and she was quick to greet him with a pleasant “Good morning”.

It was sealed with a smile and an odd twinkle in her bright eyes.

“May I sit with you?” she asked.

“Ri’saad welcomes you, friend.”

She seemed excited, fascinated, even. If it was the first time she had seen a Khajiit, Ri’saad would not blame her, and it was rare he received such a warm greeting. Though she seemed quite tired, the light in her eyes haunted by shadows, her smile was no less sincere.

While clothed in a simple peasant’s dress, the minor abrasions and burns on her hands implied that however unlikely, the vials of Frostbite Venom she intended to sell had been procured first hand, and recently. _Very_ recently. The Forsworn would pay handsomely for them and, he would admit, it was a refreshing change of pace to find someone willing to barter with him, even if she was but a novice.

Somewhere behind them, Atahbah’s groans broke through the thick lining of their tent, and as her moans reached a fevered pitch - her words, blessedly, undecipherable - Ri’saad’s guest blushed a very daring scarlet. When Ma’randru-jo insisted that she “Be quiet, or they’ll hear!”, the poor woman seemed inclined to explode on the spot.

His sigh was unusually heavy for such an early hour.

“Ri’saad is sorry you had to hear that.”

Between her stammers, she assured him it was quite fine, but Ri’saad slipped her a few extra Septims, just in case she was not a noble’s daughter playing the peasant, but a Cyrodilic Bard with exceptional acting skills. Her eyes were quick, Ri’saad would give her that, and so uniquely coloured, but her bodyguard stole her attention, preventing her from airing his miscalculation.

“The Jarl is expecting us,” he insisted, body posture betraying his nerves, though he had yet to reach for his blade.

She rolled her eyes in a very unladylike fashion and, dropping the coins into her purse, lips twitching as she tried, and failed to hide a shy smile, she rose with a sigh that told Ri’saad she very much wanted to stay and chat. A friendly customer was always good for business, but he would not admit to feeling disheartened by her absence.

“May your road lead you –”

“- you to warm sands! Aah! _Jinx!_ ” she squealed, delighted beyond words.

Curious… and her smile was positively blinding. Did she have moon sugar for teeth?

“ _Dawn_.”

“I’m coming! Thank you, Ri’saad. I hope we meet again.”

“Ri’saad wishes you well,” he replied, with a bow of his head, a courtesy she returned, and with an energetic wave, she returned to her impatient companion.

“Dawn…”

He tasted the name on his tongue, whiskers twitching and ears swivelling experimentally. It was but a single syllable, and yet so overwhelmingly powerful.

“ _Hm_ … Yes, Ri’saad thinks it suits you well, strange one.”

When they met again, as they doubtlessly would, he would prepare the old tea set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet, just right for Khajiit!


End file.
